


flashlight

by pregnant_weepul2



Series: fun moomin au fanfiction [1]
Category: Mumintroll | Moomins Series - Tove Jansson
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, F/F, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-01
Updated: 2019-07-02
Packaged: 2020-05-31 18:07:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19431322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pregnant_weepul2/pseuds/pregnant_weepul2
Summary: moomintroll has difficult feelings because of childhood and nostalgia and other things.  snufkin is there also and snorkmaiden and little my.  they go on an adventure and sniff is there.  anyways it is very exciting i think i have stronger imagery for the setting than for the plot.  they live in an old victorian house in a yard full of weeds.  they go to school and also ride a bike along the streets near the beach.





	1. Chapter 1

Moomin woke up in the middle of the night. He blinked, and through his eyelashes could see the blue world beyond his bed.

He lay against the pillow for a minute, head facing the door as the blurriness in his vision cleared and he felt more awake. Then he pushed his quilt gently off him and sat up. He had a funny feeling that something had happened.

Silver light in the form of a window had pooled on the hardwood floor of his room. He looked up through the window and saw a huge, full moon staring down at him from the highest branches of the maple trees in the backyard.

He went to the windowsill, shivering at the coldness of the glass panes, and looked out over the yard. His mama’s neat garden beds of rosebushes and vegetables, surrounded by carefully selected seashells, bordered the wild oat grass and yard mallow that grew willy-nilly up until the banks of the creek that ran under the trees, where they were replaced by horse tails, papyrus and ferns.

He moved his gaze to the old playhouse that sat in the middle of the yard, shaded by the pear tree. The playhouse was shaped like a lighthouse and painted with red and white stripes. The light at the top had once really turned on, but the bulb had burned out long ago. He and Snorkmaiden had spent many warm, sunny days playing in that light house, make-believing that the creek was the open sea. He sighed thinking of it. Nostalgia always seemed to hit one worst at night.

Now the lighthouse stood empty except for during the winter-time, when his old friend Too-Ticky took up residence there.

Moomintroll wondered where Too-Ticky was now. It was very nearly summer, and the maple trees had put out their lush, green leaves. Moomin’s eyes wandered to the blueish mountains that rose just above the treetops, barely indistinguishable from the night sky now. He was just thinking of Snufkin and when he would be home when he noticed something obscuring the moon.  
Was it a cloud? No, it couldn’t be… It was a black shape, forming a funny, waving line down near the creek… There! An orange fire was crackling, just visible around the trunk of one of the maples.

Moomin could see the round form of a tent, too, at the edge of the creek. He jumped up and pulled his baggy, blue sweatshirt on over his pajamas. He quickly grabbed his flashlight from where it sat on the shelf near the door and ran out into the hall and down the stairs, making sure to jump the squeaky one near the bottom.

The house was an old Victorian, painted dark blue with a red roof and white trim, and had the special flag Moomin, Snorkmaiden, and the Snork had designed as children hanging from the eaves. Moomin noticed the flag as he stepped out onto the verandah, shutting the front door behind him. It flapped in the night like a ghost.

It was a surprisingly clear night. Maybe the fog just hasn’t rolled in yet, thought Moomin as he picked his way through the tall grass, listening to the buzz of the crickets and occasionally swatting at a mosquito.

He broke into a run again when he spotted the campsite: Snufkin’s tent was pitched under the old redwood by the creek and a fire crackled merrily outside it. Snufkin, however, was nowhere to be seen. Moomin skidded to a halt in front of the fire, and was suddenly hit by the smell of redwood needles that have been baking in the sun all day. The sense of nostalgia began to return. He shook his head to clear it.

“Snufkin?” he asked quietly, looking around. At last he spotted him: a dark silhouette sitting on the bank of the creek, back hunched over.

“Snufkin!” he said, running over.

Snufkin took shape as Moomin came closer. His big dark eyes looked wide and surprised.   
His hair, black, was matted worse than last summer around his ears, and his old green hat, which the sort with a wide brim and a string to keep it on, like a fisherman wears, was more battered and uneven. There was a new patch of calico fabric on the edge of the brim. He also wore a very long, beat-up black tshirt (with a white graphic design that was hard to make out) as a dress, and under it, old green corduroys, full of holes.

Snufkin was fishing in the creek, an empty bean can next to him held the worms he was using for bait. He blinked in the beam from Moomin’s flashlight. Moomin had to restrain himself from launching himself at him and tackle-hugging him into the ground. Instead he sat down next to him on the bank, and clicked the flashlight off. The fire provided enough light. Snufkin looked back at the creek.

“Any luck?” Moomin asked, casually, as if he had happened to drop in on Snufkin, who happened to be fishing, and it wasn’t the middle of the night, and they hadn’t just spent more than half a year apart.

“Aren’t you usually asleep at this hour?” asked Snufkin.

“Uh, well, ye-es,” said Moomin, “but I woke up very suddenly because I felt as if something had happened, and it had. You’re here!” He beamed at him, waiting for his answer.

“I am here,” said Snufkin, and he sounded as if he were also smiling, at least internally. “I was expecting you to find the campfire ashes before school tomorrow”--he fumbled the fishing pole into one hand and reached into his pants pockets for a cigarette-- ”and I would be waiting for you, maybe up a tree--” he took out the box and shook one out, then his lighter and lit it-- “and I imagined you would be very glad to see me.” He set the lighter down on the damp earth beside him and looked at Moomin, smiling a little. 

“I am, I am!” said Moomin. “I was… a little worried. I thought maybe you had, well, I don’t know…” He looked down at Snufkin’s hand for a moment, sitting on the black earth, and his thin wrist… and then he noticed the lighter he had set down. He picked it up. Someone had writing on it in black sharpie, “You’re the good things,” and drawn a small bouquet of flowers.

“What does this mean?” he asked, passing Snufkin the lighter.

“It’s lyrics,” Snufkin answered, taking it. “I don’t know what the song’s called, though. I heard it in the lobby of a hostel while I was away.”

“Oh! Your travels!” said Moomin. “How did it go! Oh, tell me all about it, please.”

Snufkin pulled in his rod, studied the worm that was still on the hook, and sighed. He set the rod against the redwood and tossed his lighter into his hand, before returning it to his pocket.

“It’s getting very late,” he said. “Tomorrow. We can talk all about everything tomorrow.”

“Oh,” said Moomin, surprised by the abrupt change of pace.

Snufkin leaned over and gently kissed him on the forehead. “Run along to bed now,” he said softly. And then, even more quietly, “I can’t wait to spend the…”

“What was that?” asked Moomin, but Snufkin only shook his head.  
Moomin lingered for a moment by the fire, asking if he needed anything to eat considering the fish hook had come up empty, but Snufkin waved him away, wandering over toward his tent. 

As Moomin walked back up to the house, guided by the ring of white light his flashlight cast on the ground, he could still feel the place where Snufkin’s lips had touched his forehead. 

It felt like someone had taken a star out of the sky and placed it there. He got to the verandah and set his hand against the railing. He could see Snufkin’s shape moving around his campsite. He looked away, toward the other side of the yard, which was overgrown with oat grass to nearly waist height.

I wonder what that was about, he thought. He wasn’t sure if he could consider it a gesture of friendship. He remembered when, last year, he and Snufkin had sleepily told each other that they loved each other. It made him wonder, but he knew the thoughts would consume him if he pondered too much. That tended to happen to him.

He pulled open the door, which creaked loudly, and crept into the house. He passed the broken window, where ivy had begun to enter the house and climb up the wall beside the staircase, and the potted money tree Moominpappa had won in a bet while drunk and kept halfway up the stairs for whatever reason (Moomin had nearly tripped over it in the dark on several occasions).

He passed his parent’s room and could hear Moominmamma’s soft snores. He stopped and listened for a moment, while a vague childhood memory played in the back of his mind. He was very small and she picked him up in her arms and gave him a hug. It felt as if he were being encased; she was so much bigger and warmer than him. He got a funny sense that those kinds of feelings were no longer possible. As a matter of fact, he’d found it hard to really feel anything much lately. It felt, in a way, like he was following a set of instructions laid out for him.

As he neared his room he heard noises coming from the room next door. He sighed and knocked. When there was no answer, he leaned down and knocked again on the small door that had been carved out of the larger one, completely with its own small brass handle.

“Little My,” he called. “Are you playing Fortnite again?”

Once again, no answer. Moomin opened the door, to find the small girl sitting up on her pillows, her phone propped up in her lap. Her hair was down in two long, red braids for the night. It was a little strange to see her without her characteristic bun.

“You’re not meant to play games at night, remember? Mama said so.”

Little My stuck out her tongue at him. She turned off her phone and set it on the nightstand. “Why are you up, anyway?” she asked. “You’re supposed to be asleep at this hour. I’m sure your mama would say something about that, too.”

“If it’s any of your business, Snufkin’s back,” said Moomin.

“Oh,” said Little My. “I used to live with him once, you know. I went on an adventure with him.”

“Only because you fell in the creek and the current carried you to him. We were all very worried.”

“Oh,” said Little My. “Everyone here is always worried for some reason or another. They should know that I can manage myself.”

“I suppose you have so far,” said Moomin. He worried about her more than he would let her know. She liked to wander off without warning, and sometimes there were coyotes and mountain lions about at night.

Moomin said “good night” and carefully shut the door. He went back to his own room and climbed up onto his bed.

He was hit by a sudden wave of sadness that jarred him and caught him off guard. It was different from a regular sadness, too, because it felt strained in some way, like it was a fake emotion close to real sadness but not quite there. He sunk his head back against the pillows. He felt as if he were an actor wearing a mask. But who was behind it, he couldn’t say.


	2. breakfast

It felt like no time before Moomin was blinking the sun out of his eyes. He sat up and could see blue sky out of his window. He looked at the small cat-shaped digital clock on his dresser. It was 7:02. Funny that, once again, there was no fog.

Moomin got up and pulled off his sweatshirt, which he had forgotten to take off the night before. It had gotten quite sweaty and he felt much better with it off. He went to his dresser and found a pretty OK outfit, a striped red shirt that reminded him of Too-Ticky and jeans with the cuffs rolled up. Then he went to the blue-rimmed oval-shaped mirror that hung on the far wall. 

Moomin was rather heavy with pale skin and big, blue eyes. His hair was wispy, thin, and chestnut brown. He had very light blond peach fuzz on most of his face and a few faint freckles. Moomin pulled at his hair for a bit but gave up trying to get it to stay nicely. He found his dark blue cardigan on the floor underneath his desk and pulled it on. 

Outside in the hallway, Margot, the family’s cat, sat in the middle of the hardwood floor, licking her paw. The family had gotten her last winter, when Too-Ticky’s old grey cat, Marmalade, had kittens. Too-Ticky could not bring all of them with her to her summer home, so she offered to leave Margot with Moomin’s family. Margot was striped with red and orange, and she liked to hunt for mice and grasshoppers in the tall grass around the house.

Moomin was very worried that Margot would stay out too late or stray far from the yard and be eaten up by some night-time predator. He had devised a system of logical to ensure that she would stay safe.

If he saw her three times throughout the day, he assumed she was not lost and would come that night. For some time he had gone outside to hunt for her three times daily, but now he would just look at her three times every morning, turning his head away in between each look. He did this now and she stretched and meowed at him. Maybe she wants to be let out, he thought.

I can’t have that, Moomin continued in his mind, there may still be coyotes about. I’d better--  
The door to Little My’s room flew open with a force that seemed disproportionate to her size. She had taken her hair out of its braids and now it fell in frizzy waves down her back. She yawned and stretched and reached out to pet Margot.

“Don’t pull her tail again,” said Moomin. “She didn’t like that.”

“I won’t,” said Little My, patting the cat’s back and frowning.

“And don’t put sticky tape on her back again.”

“I won’t do that either,” said Little My. She chuckled to herself. “But it sure was funny!”

“Okay,” said Moomin, feeling frustrated. He went into the bathroom and brushed his teeth. He always used strawberry toothpaste because the mint was too strong for him. Little My came in a moment later, and Moomin noticed that her nightgown was buttoned one button off, so it hung lower on one side than the other.

She picked up a comb from the counter and started to comb through her hair. Moomin rinsed out his mouth and set his toothbrush back.

“Can I use some of your baby toothpaste?” asked My. “It tastes like candy.”

“It isn’t baby toothpaste!” said Moomin. “It’s just strawberry.”

“Call it whatever you like, your choice,” said My, shrugging. She reached over and picked the tube up off the counter. “It has a little cartoon strawberry on it,” she said, examining it.

“Okay, and what does that matter,” said Moomin huffily.

My shrugged again. “It doesn’t,” she said. “I like it, actually. There’s no need to be so angry.”

Moomin unclenched his fists, which he realized had been balled. He left the bathroom and thumped down the stairs, trailing his hand on the banister. He remembered to dodge his father’s money tree halfway down.

His mama was in the kitchen, which was a very open area to the immediate left of the staircase. There were spider-plants in pots hanging over the windows, which were framed by flowery curtains. The kitchen table was covered by a yellow oilcloth patterned with strawberries and violets. Moomin sat down in one of the five or so mismatched chairs and stared into space.

“Moomin, dear, is something the matter?” asked Moominmamma, who was bustling about the stove preparing breakfast. Moominmamma had short, white hair and sometimes wore a red headband. She had on an old purple tshirt with a wolf design that was full of holes and tight black pants under her red-and-white apron. 

“No,” said Moomin. “Not really.”

“Hummmm,” said Moominmamma in response, obviously a little distracted. She was busy flipping the sausages with a spatula and checking on the coffeecake in the oven. It smelled heavenly.

Moomin noticed a large glass jar on the stove-top, which was covered by a white cloth that had been cinched in at the edges on the sewing machine. “What’s that?” he asked.

“Oh, I’m making some kombucha,” said Moominmamma absent-mindedly. “I started it last night.” The kitchen timer started to ring and Moominmamma picked it up and turned it off. “Do you mind taking the coffee cake out?” she asked Moomin. “I have to start the eggs.”

“Oh, not at all,” said Moomin, embarrassed that he hadn’t offered to help before. He stood up and took some oven mitts from the drawer. Just then, Moominpappa walked in, still in his pinstriped powder-blue pajamas. He was already wearing his black top hat, though. Moominpappa was the sort of father who is very invested in nostalgic aesthetic. He liked to listen to records on an old grammaphone and wrote rather terrible detective novels that were rarely accepted by the publishers. Moominmamma’s daycare job was the family’s main source of income.

“Breakfast?” asked Moominpappa. “Do you need any help?” He came over and started trying to help Moominmamma with the eggs but didn’t do very well at it. He then tried to coach her on how to crack them perfectly and she started to get annoyed at him. He shrugged and ended up just sitting down at the table, making a big show of slowly bending down to sit and saying, “oof” and “ah” as he settled in the chair. Lazy, thought Moomin. He pulled the coffeecake from the oven and was setting it on the table just as Little My came down the stairs, carrying Margot in her arms. 

Margot looked uncomfortable with her middle stretched out and her little feet hanging down in the air. “Oh, you can let her out, dear,” said Moominmamma. “I’m sure she would like to catch her breakfast on such a nice, sunny morning.”

“Okay!” said My, dropping Margot and running to the door to open it. Moomin was about to say something about how they really shouldn’t let her out before eight when Moominpappa started telling a long-winded story about some European man he had met in a craft beer house, and Little My interrupted him to list the best and worst flavors of coffeecake, all with Moominmamma saying, “yes” and “uh-huh” periodically.

When there was a moment of quiet she turned to Moomin and said, “Oh, Moomin, dear, do you mind going to ask Snufkin if he’d like some breakfast? I saw his tent was pitched this morning. And maybe a change of clothes… or something.”

“Oh, certainly,” said Moomin, glad to have a moment away from the chaos of the kitchen. Little My had just dropped the frying pan full of eggs Moominmamma had tried to pass her, and Moominpappa was explaining the significance of the “five-second rule” around a mouthful of yolk.

As soon as the door shut and Moomin found himself standing on the verandah, a wave of calm passed over him. It felt much better to be away from the heat of the oven and the noisy chatter of his family. 

This must be how Snufkin feels when he sets off on a journey, Moomin thought, passing through the paint-chipped white pillars and picking his way through the grass. He looked up and saw that the redwood tree looked very beautiful against the sky this morning; its needles looked nearly black, they were such a dark green, and little pieces of blue shown through them.

The fire, which had long since gone out, had left a little pile of softly-smoking dark soot behind, and Snufkin’s fishing pole lay against the peeling bark of the tree. Moomin noticed that his tent was still zipped up and went over to it.

“Snufkin?” he asked softly. He leaned his back against the tent a little and was surprised at how easily the material gave. It felt a bit like a hammock. “Snuf-kin,” he said again, more drawn out this time. He could hear soft breathing from inside the tent. He must still be asleep, he realized.

“Snufkin,” he said a little louder, now feeling embarrassed. He heard a stirring inside the tent and then the familiar sound of its zipper. It made him remember camping trips he’d taken with his parents when he was very small.

Snufkin said, “One minute. I’m still waking up.”

“How did you unzip the tent then?”

“Oh, I just used my toes.”

“Uh… Okay.”

A moment later Snufkin climbed out, still wearing the same clothes as the night before. He smelled strongly of smoke and coughed a bit, spitting something into the duff over his shoulder.

“Uhh… Are you all right?” asked Moomin.

Snufkin wiped his face roughly with the back of his arm and nodded. “Yeah, I’m okay.”

“Breakfast is ready,” said Moomin.

“Right, yes. Lead the way.”  
Moomin started off through the grass with Snufkin behind him. Once they stepped inside, Moominmamma immediately went off to the laundry room to find some of the clothes she’d decided Snufkin would like and Moominpappa stood up to go check his email.

“I pinged a publisher the other day, you know,” he said, picking up the orange juice and taking a swig right out of the bottle. “And I think it’s looking promising this time.” He chuckled to himself and hummed a little as he left the room.

Snufkin sat down in the chair next to Moomin, and slouched down so he took up less space. Moomin patted his shoulder without thinking, and Little My, who was blowing bubbles in her orange juice, gave him a funny look.

Moominmamma soon returned, carrying a laundry basket of neatly folded things. “Here we are, then, dear,” said Moominmamma. “There are some nice old shirts of Moominpappa’s in here, and a few skirts I accidentally took in a bit too much. You’ll find something you like, I’m sure.” Snufkin took a very small piece of coffeecake and set it down at his place, right on top of the oilcloth, before nodding and saying a quiet “thank you” to Moominmamma before picking up the basket and taking it upstairs to change.

“Oh, dear me, well, now he’s gone and left,” said Moominmamma. “I’ll just tell you, then. Make sure he goes to school today, will you, Moomin? We’ve been getting truancy letters again, I don’t even know how they connected him to our address, and since I don’t know where to contact his mother it’s been rather difficult… Oh, well, you know. It should be all right as long as he goes for the remainder of the year. He may be left back again but, you know how he is, I don’t think it really matters to--My, stop doing that to Moomin’s milk.”

My looked up at her and blinked, drawing her arm down to her side. She had been adding small pieces of egg and coffeecake to Moomin’s glass.

“It’s fine, I’m not really thirsty anyway,” said Moomin.

Moominpappa wandered back in to have more orange juice and Moominmma remembered something else. “Oh, and by the way, everyone, the landlady, that awful Aunt Jane, is coming over this afternoon.”

“What!” said Moomin. “She never comes over!”

“Yes, well, I suppose she’s decided to break the habit,” answered Moominmamma. “Oh, and, although I think I already told you this, Mymble and Snorkmaiden are visiting. I think they’ll get here on the 22nd… dear me, that’s today as well.”

Little My’s eyes widened. “You definitely did not tell us that,” she said.

“Oh dear, did I not? I must have forgotten.”

“My sister’s coming over!”

“That’s not a bad thing, My,” said Moominmamma.

“She’s such a nuisance! She never wants me to get into any trouble!” exclaimed My.

Moomin rolled his eyes. He got up and trotted over to the bottom of the staircase. “Snufkin!” he called. “Hurry up! We’ll be late!”

Snufkin emerged from the bathroom wearing a too-long green shirt with a ribbon for a belt and black trousers. He came down the stairs two-at-a-time and met Moomin at the bottom.

Moomin pulled on his backpack and looked back at My, who still looked disgruntled at the thought of her sister arriving. “Are you coming or not?” he asked.

Little My hopped down off the chair and went to get her backpack, which hung on a hook beside the door.

“We’re meeting Sniff out on the sidewalk,” said Moomin as the door shut behind the three of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi everyone! thank you so much to all 3 of you who have left kudos so far. I'm sorry this chapter cuts off rather suddenly!
> 
> i am still getting used to the website but this has been fun so far! hope you enjoyed it : )


	3. reward money

After some time, Sniff came running from the direction of his house. He stopped to catch his breath, hands on his knees. Sniff was a tall, gangly boy with tannish skin and very dark brown hair done in a sort of mullet. He wore thick-rimmed black glasses and pegged pants with pretty tacky (in Moomin’s opinion, anyway) worn Doc Martens boots. Sniff brushed his long, slightly greasy hair out of his eyes and took his inhaler out of his pocket. He uncapped it and took a puff.

“Sorry I’m late,” he said. “Overslept.”

“Whatever,” said Moomin. “Let’s just start walking.” 

He had taken barely three steps before he heard Sniff shout, very loudly, “Lost Dog! Black and white spots, small. A reward! 2,000 dollars!”

“I hope he’s found,” Moomin called over his shoulder. “Now come on.”

Everyone jogged a little to catch up with him, and they walked in silence for a few blocks. Snufkin took out a cigarette and lit it.

“Oh, Snufkin, may I have one?” asked Sniff, excited.

“No,” said Snufkin. “It’ll make you cough.” Sniff looked away, a little dejected. 

“Oh, cheer up, Sniff,” said Little My. “That way you won’t end up with lung cancer, like Snufkin.”

Moomin slugged her on the arm.

“Ow! That hurt, you bitch!” said My.

Snufkin began to say, “There’s no need for language”, but was interrupted by Moomin’s yelp as My’s teeth came down, hard, on his arm.

“I swear you’re part vampire bat or something,” he muttered, rubbing the wound.

“That’s going to leave a mark,” said Sniff, leaning down to examine it with interest.

“Bug off, Sniff,” said Moomin, a little more angrily than he intended. Snufkin, who was leading the party, grunted in annoyance, and he felt guilt sink into his stomach like a stone.

It wasn’t long before Sniff was distracted. “The dog!” he shouted suddenly, stopping in his tracks. They all turned round to see where he was looking. Across the street, sniffing along the bottom of a chainlink fence, was a rather raggedy dalmation wearing a red collar.

“That’s not the dog,” said Little My. “The poster said it was small.”

Sniff shrugged. “Well, it’s a small dalmation.” He started for the street but Snufkin instinctually grabbed his arm to hold him back. “Get off!” Sniff yelped, just as a car sped down the road.

“Good thing he grabbed you, or you would have been roadkill!” My giggled.

“Shut up!” said Sniff, turning a little red before tearing off after the dalmation, which had started to run in the opposite direction of the school.

“Well, what are you waiting for, let’s follow him,” said My. Moomin, who felt anxious about the entire ordeal, looked to Snufkin, who shrugged.

“Might as well,” he said. “I don’t in particular want to go to school anyway,” he added under his breath as he passed Moomin, following Little My across the road.

“But the truancy letter!” he called out. “You have to come for the rest of the year! Besides, I have a test in math today and--”

“Did you know they’re making it legal to eat roadkill in our state?” Little My said much too loudly. “That means if Sniff gets hit, we can eat him.”

“I don’t think that applies to humans, My,” said Snufkin.

“Guys, wait up,” said Moomin, hurrying behind them. Snufkin stopped and turned to wait for him. That was a good thing about Snufkin. He was the one who always waited when you were trying to get a rock out of your shoe or something like that.

“Well, we can eat the dog, then,” said My.

“I suppose we could,” said Snufkin. “Hurry now, Moomin, Sniff is already around the corner, probably getting into all kinds of trouble.”

They eventually caught up to Sniff, who was muttering all kinds of things about reward money and pyramid schemes he had planned out and what he would do when he got the money and telling Moomin that he would split some of it with him. He moved with his feet wide and arms outstretched with his hands in claws, like he was about to catch the dog, which was walking and sniffing a block ahead, sometimes stopping to look over its shoulder at them.

It would have been funny if Moomin weren’t so stressed about school.

“I really don’t think that’s the dog, Sniff,” Snufkin commented, trying to be the voice of reason. After a while of trying and not getting through to Sniff, who kept insisting it must be lost, he pulled his hat over his ears and walked in silence.

The dog started to walk quicker. Sniff’s stride increased, too, and everyone else, who had much shorter legs, had to jog to keep up. 

Finally, the dog came to a yard surrounded by a picket fence with the gate open. The dog ran inside and a girl with long, unruly black hair and very sad eyes caught him in her arms.

“Jenny, I thought you were lost forever,” she said in a very sorrowful voice. Then she looked up at Sniff, who was gawking at her over the fence. “What do you want? Why are you staring at me?”

Sniff mumbled something about reward money and Snufkin kicked him in the shin. “Sorry,” said Snufkin. “Your dog was out and we were worried. But it looks like she came home again, so all’s well.”

The girl looked confused and they tried their best to say goodbye with being too awkward and left.   
“I told you that wasn’t the dog,” said Snufkin. “Although I think we missed a good chunk of school. I might sneak off today, go somewhere quiet, have a smoke--”

“No you won’t!” said Moomin. He pulled out his phone and checked the time. “You are coming to school today. You can’t miss any more, we’ve been getting truancy letters and stuff. It’s already a quarter to nine. We really have to get going.”

“Aw, I want to go off with Snufkin,” said Little My, pouting. “That sounds funner than boring old school.”

School ended up not being particularly bad. Since no one knew Snufkin’s schedule, he sat with Moomin in all his classes and no one seemed to question it. A few teachers even wrote him into the role sheet. Hopefully that’s enough, Moomin thought, because if it isn’t I don’t know what to do. I don’t think anyone in my family is good at these administrative things.

Moomin’s math test went all right even though all the little numbers and formulas were dastardly confusing and he ended up spacing out and drawing a nice picture of a kitten for the last question. He turned it in with knots in his stomach but the way his teacher smiled at him as she collected it made him think it couldn’t be too terrible.

“How did it go for you?” Snufkin asked as they left the room.

“Terribly,” said Moomin. “And you?”

“I didn’t remember any of it. I barely wrote a thing. I think I got, maybe, one question right. And that was probably just by pure coincidence. I’ll be glad to be out of this dump.” He spit on school sidewalk.

Moomin noticed a group of girls huddled under the dawn redwood that grew near the entrance to campus. They were all pushing one of the girls and seemed to be teasing her. The girl in question kept glancing over at him and Snufkin. He wrinkled his forehead at her.

The girl was shoved rather hard in their direction, and she stumbled over, glancing up every so often but otherwise staring at her feet. She was rather pretty with large, black eyes surrounded by well-applied eyeliner and mascara.

“Hi, Snufkin,” she said, apparently a little shy.

“Uhm, hi,” said Snufkin, in much too soft a way for Moomin’s comfort.

“Um, I was wondering, well, you just haven’t been in school for a long time, and, uh, well…”

“Yes?”  
“It’s nice to uh, to see you again,” said the girl, looking up flirtatiously under her lashes.

“Nice to see you too,” said Snufkin, holding out his hand to shake hers. “And your name was…?”

Moomin had to cover his mouth with his hand to keep from bursting out laughing.

“Mary.” said the girl. “I thought you’d remember me.”

“Sorry about that. I have a terrible memory for names.”

“He really does!” Moomin shouted suddenly. “I think he sometimes even forgets my name, and we’ve been best friends for years!”

Mary looked at Moomin with a disgusted expression. “Um, okay then,” she said. “I think my friends are calling me.” She went back over to sit with them.

“Why do so many girls like you, Snufkin,” Moomin asked under his breath as they walked away.

“I guess they think I’m cool and mysterious,” Snufkin answered. “I wear all this funny clothing to try to through them off, but alas!” he clapped his hand to his forehead in mock distress and Moomin giggled. “It only makes me quirkier!”

“I think it’s darling,” said Moomin quietly and Snufkin looked away. Moomin decided to change the subject. “Also, you aren’t really that terrible at names, are you?”

“I swear, I’ve never spoken to that girl in my life,” Snufkin said under his breath, looking a little relieved. “But maybe I have. I don’t think I have a very good memory.”

“Oh,” said Moomin.

“What do you have next?” Snufkin asked.

“Uhm, psychics,” said Moomin.

“No offense, but that sounds terrible. I think I’m going to duck out.” He clapped Moomin on the shoulder.

“Uh, all right,” said Moomin, hoping that his absence wouldn’t be marked. “Maybe you can go to the office tomorrow morning to get your real schedule.”

Snufkin shrugged. “Maybe,” he said. “Well, cheerio, anyway.” He walked quickly towards the gate, his hand already rummaging for the cigarette box in his pocket.

**Author's Note:**

> i did not proofread this


End file.
